


just like that

by varelsen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Set during S1, also lance bonds with coran if you're into that, but veeery very mild angst! i could never hurt him, this is a Bi Discovery Fic™, ur daily dose of Sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varelsen/pseuds/varelsen
Summary: He wishes he could say “I want to caress your cheek as gently as a cherry blossom petal falling upon the face of a beautiful anime man,” but what comes out is usually more along the lines of “What do you know, Mullet?”Or, Lance comes to terms with being bi.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts before Pidge comes out as a girl and ends after the events of episode 9. I tried to keep it as in sync with canon as possible!
> 
> hope you enjoy~

It starts with something stupid, as usual.

“Hey, did you guys ever wonder if we can use each other’s weapons?” Lance asks. He’s draped over the couch, upside-down, legs hooked over the back rest and head hanging off the seat. He eyes Keith’s bayard, lying on the couch beside its owner.

Pidge, sitting cross-legged on the floor and typing away, shrugs. “I think Hunk’s cannon weighs more than I do, so I’m not even gonna try.”

“It might be fun though,” Lance says, and snatches Keith’s bayard.

Keith’s reaction is a fraction of a second too slow, and he can only yelp “Hey!” as Lance does a smooth roll off the couch and onto his feet.

“Cool,” Lance crows, hopping neatly out of Keith’s reach. “How do I turn it on?” His own bayard seems to react to his mind; he wonders if the weapons are attuned to their wielders the same way the Lions are, or if he could get Keith’s ridiculously cool sword to work.

“Give that back!” Keith yells.

“Or what? You’re gonna stab me with your _sword_?” Lance taunts, dangling the bayard in front of his face.

“No, with the dagger that’s right there on his belt,” says Pidge, without looking up from the computer.

Oh, shit.

Lance unleashes perhaps the most undignified scream of his life when Keith’s weight suddenly barrels into him from behind, landing on Lance’s back and knocking the breath out of his lungs.

“Let go of it, Lance!”

“Get off, you’re killing me!”

Keith locks his left arm around Lance’s neck, stretching out his other arm so that he can grab Lance’s wrist and try to pry the bayard out of his hand. Lance bucks and twists to shake him off, but man, he can really cling, and—

—and he’s _incredibly_ muscular; Lance can feel it even through his jacket, Keith’s hard chest and stomach pressed up against his back—

—and he’s warm.

As warm as Lance’s face is getting. It doesn’t matter how many times he thinks _what, no, stop,_ because his flush only deepens, and there’s a new kind of heat buzzing in his gut, spreading to his skin and making every inch feel electric.

Keith has Lance pinned tightly enough to stretch up and grip his hand, his weapon almost within reach. Lance hisses as Keith’s nails dig into his skin, and makes the mistake of glancing at Keith’s hand, in that stupid fingerless glove, and _what the fuck_ – his slender fingers and strong forearms have Lance’s stomach doing _flips_.

_Why?_

He tries to take a shuddering breath, to get himself back under control, and Keith seizes the window of opportunity. He pries Lance’s fingers open, grabbing his bayard out of the air before it hits the floor.

“Don’t mess with my stuff!” he barks, then stalks off in triumph.

Lance stays there, on the floor, and tries to process the fact that his heart is beating out of his chest.

“Nice job, champion.” Pidge rolls his eyes almost audibly, as Lance feels his whole world fall apart.

 

* * *

 

From that day on, Lance starts noticing things.

Actually, he might have sort of low-key noticed them before, too, but brushed them off as mere observations. Now, though, there’s that faint but undeniable reaction in his belly every time he catches on some little detail about Keith, forcing him to acknowledge it as fact.

For instance, there’s the way Keith isn’t full-on Dorito like Shiro, but he’s still got this _shape_ – broad shoulders, tapered waist, perfectly muscled limbs. Something about that shape is impossibly pleasing to Lance, and he can’t help but sneak glances, only to tear his eyes away and mentally slap himself. Because it’s _Keith_ , ew.

Thinking like that doesn’t really help, though. During training, he gets distracted by the perfect balance of Keith’s movements, and honest-to-god drop-kicked by a droid. When Allura yells at him for it, he can’t even talk back, just takes the verbal beating and slinks back into the ring with his tail between his legs.

Over breakfast, he glances to the side and notices the way Keith’s hair curls against the tendons of his neck, a soft contrast against the strength of his jaw. He hates that his space goo suddenly feels extra hard to swallow, that his cheeks go hot against his will.

Keith asks him to pass the weird spice that passes for salt, and Lance jumps so hard he nearly drops his spoon, snapping, “Get it yourself!”

Then he feels like an asshole. It’s not Keith’s fault Lance is suddenly acting all weird – well, at least not directly.

Lance finds himself taking refuge in the bathroom _way_ too often. Luckily for all of them, it turned out Alteans and humans are similar enough to have the same basic hygienic needs. So he can hide out in there, take a hot shower, and then stare at himself in the mirror for a long, long time, wondering what went wrong and when.

Lance blames all of this on that stupid incident with the bayard, and Keith’s fit, firm body, and those dumb gloves that made his fingers look so … elegant. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly developed this aesthetic appreciation for boys, but he can’t deny it’s there.

“Aesthetic appreciation”? Who’s he kidding?

Lance thinks Keith is _hot_.

He splashes his face with cold water.

It doesn’t make any sense.

Lance knows he likes girls, has known it forever. Kissing a girl has been his ultimate life goal ever since he was old enough to understand the concept of girls. He’s always been so excited for his first kiss – he had no idea who it would be with, of course, but he was always certain that she’d be cute as hell, like him a lot, and identify as female. Because Lance _knows_ he likes girls.

But now he’s thinking about _Keith_ – a boy through and through – and it’s making his cheeks hot and his stomach tighten.

He’s pretty sure he knows what it means. He knows how to define the word _attraction_.

What he doesn’t know is how to feel about it.

It’s not that he minds if guys like other guys. He just never thought he would be one of them. He thought he was … The word _normal_ flickers across his mind, and it makes him feel ashamed. That’s so … backward. Shouldn’t he have gotten farther than this?

He turns the word _bisexual_ over in his head.

Maybe.

But, well, liking boys is one thing – but the fact that he’s suddenly getting all flustered around _Keith_ makes it a million times worse. Back at the Garrison, Lance was so salty about all the girls who were probably mad crushing on Keith – which he explained to Hunk, in excruciating detail, over more than one lunch break – and now he’s acting just like them? Please.

Lance is done in the bathroom, but he doesn’t feel like going out there and facing the rest of the world just yet. If he’s not flirty and upbeat as usual, the rest of the team will notice, and he isn’t ready to deal with any well-meaning questions about why that is. So he sits down with his back to the smooth grey of the bathroom door, drawing his knees up to his chest.

There’s nobody he can _talk_ to. Sometimes the Castle, huge as it is, gets so claustrophobic. Back home, he’d talk to his sister or his mom about this, but that’s impossible now. His heart clenches.

He finds himself thinking, with a horrible, guilty relief, that if anyone in his family had to pass, it was just as well that it ended up being his strict Catholic _abuelita_. He still misses her desperately – but at least he can process this whole thing without having to worry about ever disappointing her.

Lance swallows. Actually, he might not get to disappoint anyone in his family ever again. Or make them proud. Or see their smiles.

Thinking about that makes his stomach drop out from under him. Sometimes space really does feel huge. And it’s so _typical_ for him to have his identity crisis in the middle of the fucking void, population: 7 humanoids, 4 space rodents.

There’s Hunk, of course, his best friend – but he has a scientist’s mind, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge that, unfortunately, extends to other people’s private business. He read Pidge’s _diary_ , for fuck’s sake. Anything he says might be all over the place in a matter of hours, and everybody would know that Lance is freaking out about Keith ( _Keith!_ ) being so damn pretty.

Lance cringes, leans his head back against the wall.

Maybe he should stop thinking about this. 

 

* * *

 

He’s forced to stop thinking about it, when duty interferes.

When a drone that isn’t Rover blows up in his face.

When he comes out of a fog of pain and confusion, knowing only that something is very wrong. That Sendak is here, in the Castle. That he should fight back.

He shoots more on instinct than anything else.

And then—

_Lance, are you okay?_

And Keith’s strong hand in his.

_We did it. We are a good team._

Keith’s smile.

And god, at the edge of consciousness, all of it feels so right.

 

* * *

 

He denies it, after it happens.

He denies a lot of things.

It’s easy, because there’s a lot of other stuff going on. For one, _Pidge is a girl_. Everyone except Lance had already figured it out. Geez, talk about self-absorbed! His head’s been so far up his own ass lately.

He feels bad about that. And he feels bad about being so rude to Keith, too – _nope, don’t remember, didn’t happen._

 _Don’t beat yourself up, Lance!_ his inner voice insists. _You’re just protecting yourself._

Another, softer, inner voice whispers, _But from what?_

 

* * *

 

As the days pass, Lance convinces himself that the reason he’s overreacting like this – noticing Keith’s hands and thinking about Keith’s lips and being generally fucking ridiculous – is the same reason he feels so hopelessly isolated about it: there’s literally no one else there.

Because, really – stick a sexually frustrated sixteen-year-old in a floating metal can with six other people, and he’s bound to fixate on _somebody_. Too bad it didn’t end up being Allura, but let’s get real: he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance with her. He figures that the Keith thing must be some sort of extension of their rivalry: _Lance and Keith, neck and neck._ It isn’t a big step from there to _mouth to mouth_ and – nope, no, _not_ going there!

Luckily, his duties as a defender of the universe continue to distract him. Hunk desperately wants them to return to the Balmera, and the rest of the team agrees.

And wouldn’t you know – they meet Rolo and, most importantly, _Nyma_.

Lance is absolutely overjoyed about Nyma. A girl, and a hot alien girl at that! And yeah, as he takes in her slim yellow body and gorgeous purple eyes, there it is: the same thrill of excitement and arousal that means _attraction_. It’s so good to be reminded he is still into this, that he can still feel those things splayed across a babe’s lap, and not just in uncomfortably close proximity to a frowny boy in an awfully tight T-shirt.

The old Lance lives.

But, of course, he fucks that one up monumentally. Here’s what happens when you’re In Denial, the Lance Edition:

  1. Attempt to flirt with hot babe by taking her on a romantic ride in your awesome lion mecha. (Date idea of the century? Date idea of the century.)
  2. Get handcuffed to a tree by said hot babe. Could consider getting into this???
  3. Babe turns out to be a space thief (attractive, but inconvenient when she’s stealing from _you_ ) and makes off with aforementioned awesome lion mecha.
  4. Unfairly cute guy you’re in denial about retrieves your mecha, making him 420% hotter in the process.
  5. Same guy also ends up being the one who uncuffs you from the damn tree. Pride: gone, game: destroyed, coping strategy: shattered.
  6. Your delusions are forcibly wiped from your mind.



And at the end of the day, Lance ends up feeling a lot gayer than he did when it started. Funny how that turns out.

 

* * *

 

Would kissing Keith really be so bad?

At night, curled in his bed on the edge of sleep, he considers that.

Callused hands. Soft lips. Warm arms.

Lance shivers, curls up tighter.

He concludes, with the slightest twinge of guilt, that it could probably be … all right.

Yeah. It could be. 

 

* * *

 

He _needs_ to talk to _someone_.

He finds Coran on the command deck. Allura isn’t there, for once; she’s been dispatched on “taking a damn break for once” duty. The others, as far as Lance knows, are in their rooms.

“Hey, Coran? Do you … do you have a minute?”

“Hullo, Lance. What’s on your mind?”

It’s so, so tempting to open up and tell Coran everything. Lance is so used to turning to adults, to having a big family to trust with every insecurity. But he doesn’t know how Coran will react. And he can’t bear the thought of him getting disgusted, since, you know, they’re stuck on this ship together for who knows how long. Are Alteans homophobic? Is sexuality even a thing on their planet? Oh man, he can’t freak out _now_.

“Are you feeling homesick again?” Coran asks.

Lance smiles wanly. “Aren’t I always?” Coran shoots him a sympathetic look. “That’s not, um, what’s bothering me right now, though.”

“I’m listening.” And he really is, his blue-grey eyes bright and friendly.

“Did Altea have, uh …” Lance gets really scared, suddenly, of Coran realizing what he’s getting at and turning out to be some sort of Altean ultra-conservative. What if he tells Lance to go to the equivalent of alien church and rid himself of impure thoughts? _Don’t fucking freak out, Lance!_ “I mean, you have men, and women, and romance, right?”

“We do, and some genders in between besides. And romance, definitely! There are lots of torrid Altean tales that – uh, that will have to wait until you’re older.”

Lance snorts. “Yeah, can’t wait. So, um, is there anything considered weird about … about romance between two women, or you know … two guys?”

And he swears that the look in Coran’s eyes softens. “No, not at all. Altea was a diplomatic hub throughout the galaxy for thousands of years. We’ve encountered customs and cultures so bizarre you’d never believe me if I told you.” His mustache twitches, as if daring Lance to ask. “So something as mundane and natural as people falling in love wouldn’t raise many eyebrows.”

Relief washes through Lance, cool and comforting. “Really?”

“Yep, really. What about Earth?”

Lance looks down at his shoes, scuffs at the ground. “Well, there used to be a _lot_ of stigma. It’s gotten better in some places, but there are still problems … and, you know. Injustice. And it’s not considered, uh, the norm.” He swallows, realizing he’s been measuring himself with society’s yardstick all this time, when really … that system just doesn’t fit who he is. “Anyway, I mean, the point is – I like girls.”

“That much is obvious.”

“But … I might also, you know. Be into guys.”

“All righty.”

“And I – I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Coran strokes his chin. “Hmm, well, let’s see. What do we know about Lance? You’re the Blue Paladin of Voltron, you might have the best sense of humor on this ship – well, aside from me; you’re taller than Keith but shorter than Shiro, and you like both girls and boys.” Coran shrugs. “Seems to me that’s all there is to it.”

Lance blinks. “Man, you make it sound so easy.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I guess. It might take some getting used to, though,” he mumbles. “I mean, it’s not … who I thought I was. If that makes sense.”

“Oh, yes, tell me about it. I remember this yalmor-riding contest when I was young – it changed everything I thought I knew about myself, really did a number on my self-esteem; I think I still have the bruises …”

Lance starts to giggle at that, and the simple act of laughing has all the tension melting off of him like an old skin. He can’t _stop_ ; it’s not long before he’s buckled over and shaking. Coran rests a hand on his shoulder, like he’s checking if he’s okay – and Lance throws his arms around Coran and squeezes him tight. He smells like clean clothes and that peculiar citrusy fragrance that Lance has realized is an Altean thing, and when he hugs Lance back, his arms are comforting and strong. It feels good and safe and awesome, like Lance is just a kid learning about life from an elder, and not some nervous loser who can’t even figure out who he wants to _kiss_ and is also somehow supposed to save the universe.

Except, scratch that.

He _does_ sort of know who he wants to kiss.

That thought sobers Lance up. Coran lets him go, and he wipes the last tear of laughter out of his eye, stands up straight.

“Thanks, Coran.”

“No problem at all.”

They share a smile. Lance is so thankful for Coran – it’s not the first time he’s helped talk Lance down, after all, and that has him remembering something from their last conversation. “Hey, by the way …”

“Yes?”

“Remember when we talked about rain?”

“Maybe.” Coran’s eyes twinkle in a way that says he does. Lance arches an eyebrow.

“Okay, so, you were shitting me about the fiery rocks falling from the sky, right?”

For a moment, Coran looks like he’s considering keeping up the charade, but finally he admits, “Yep.” And he’s totally grinning under his mustache. “You know one of the best things I’ve discovered about sleeping in a cryopod for ten thousand years?”

“What?”

“Exploiting that fact to embarrass gullible alien youths.”

Lance bursts out laughing at that. “So Altea did have rain? Like, nice, not-deadly, watery rain?”

“It did,” Coran replies, very softly. “It sure did.” 

 

* * *

 

It’s kind of incredible how quickly humans settle into routine.

If there was one thing Lance never thought would get boring, it was space. Especially not space with him in it, as a legendary hero on a quest to save existence as we know it.

Maybe it’s a way for the mind to cope with knowing it’s in more or less constant danger. An attempt to maintain normalcy, sanity in the face of death.

But Lance gets bored.

The Castle is huge, sure, but most of it consists of large, echoing chambers that are actually pretty spooky. Who knows what kind of hidden passages and trapdoors are lurking around? He doesn’t feel like getting swallowed by a malevolent building before he has the chance to defeat Zarkon, so exploring is out. And being stuck in the same couple of rooms with the same six people gets old fast. Eating green goo gets old, too, even with Hunk’s embellishments, as does the one (1) outfit he currently owns. (It appears the mice have been sharing laundry duty with Coran while the Paladins are in armor, to spare them from having to wear the same sweaty clothes for a month straight. It’s a total Cinderella thing – if, you know, Cinderella were a mustachioed alien man.)

Lance isn’t alone in feeling this way. Whenever there’s downtime, somebody will start pointing out that this whole stuck in space thing would be a lot easier to deal with if they at least had Monopoly.

They end up talking a lot, when they’re not training. Comparing and contrasting alien cultures is a recurring subject for obvious reasons, such as it being the coolest thing ever. Time comes up a lot – sometimes it feels like they have so much of it, even as they know it’s running out, so maybe that’s why.

On this particular occasion, they’re expanding their understanding of the other culture’s timekeeping system, moving on from ticks. Pidge has just finished explaining months and years.

“We should be able to figure out a conversion system,” Pidge says, sounding excited about it the way only a geek can be. “So, like, in Earth years, I’m fourteen.”

“Whatever, prodigy.” Lance sticks his tongue out at her; she grins.

“I’m seventeen, for the record,” Hunk says, “and Lance is sixteen. Not sure about Keith.”

“I’m seventeen, too,” says Keith, and Lance is immediately on his feet, screeching, “ _What?_ You’re _older_ than me?”

Keith looks almost startled. His wide-eyed expression is definitely _not_ cute. “Yeah, I guess?”

“You already had your birthday?” says Hunk, sounding disappointed.

“Yeah, last October.”

“Man, I wanted to make a space cake.”

“Aw, geez,” Lance, a summer child, groans. “I just can’t win at _anything_. ‘Hi, I’m Keith, I’m a bigshot pilot and my jacket’s too short for no reason and also I’m _older_ than you—’”

“Why are you always trying to fight me?” Keith exclaims, voice high and agitated.

Lance jumps at that – _was I out of line?_ He doesn’t think he was – he was just teasing! – and it’s confirmed when he notices that a stunned and awkward silence has fallen over the entire room.

So he feels justified in saying, “What? Like you’re not asking for it?”

 _“Lance,”_ Hunk and Allura admonish simultaneously, and he swallows. Okay, wrong move.

Keith opens his mouth, closes it again, and looks down at his boots, eyebrows knitted tightly together. The gesture is … Lance would say _shy_ , or maybe _embarrassed_ , if those words weren’t so very un-Keith-like.

“I don’t know. You’re friends with everybody else. I don’t know what I did to you.”

And all of a sudden Lance is at a loss for words. _I thought this was our thing, you know, as rivals. I thought you were in on it, too. I thought it was obvious I might really want to kiss you, and this is my attempt at damage control._

“It’s just … you’re … you’re _Keith_ ,” Lance blurts, as if that explains everything.

Keith’s mouth hardens into a line, and if Lance didn’t know better, he would say the look in his big dark eyes is _hurt_.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Guys,” Shiro urges. “This is ridiculous.”

“Paladins, please,” says Allura, in her commanding officer voice, and all of a sudden Lance feels terrible. There’s too much on Allura’s plate already; she shouldn’t have to go into leader mode just because of some stupid bickering.

And he’s about to apologize and make it right, he really is. But Keith has already turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, and Lance is painfully aware of everyone else very deliberately not looking at him. He swallows hard.

“You can deal with that later, Lance,” says Shiro. There’s a bite of annoyance beneath his sympathetic tone that makes Lance feel like absolute shit.

As the others tentatively start talking again, a horrible realization dawns on Lance: this has happened to him before. There was this girl he liked, in middle school – actually _liked_ ; he never tried to act like some prepubescent Casanova around her. Although he was never exactly mean to her, everything he said around her came out wrong – louder or harsher or just _ruder_ than he intended.

Meaning what?

Meaning, he wishes he could say “I want to caress your cheek as gently as a cherry blossom petal falling upon the face of a beautiful anime man,” but what comes out is usually more along the lines of “What do you know, Mullet?”

He clenches his eyes shut and sighs. 

 

* * *

 

He might as well apologize sooner rather than later. The look in Shiro’s eyes left no room for excuses. _Remember, we’re a team. We have to work together, no matter what._

Lance knows that. Of course he knows that. He chews his lip.

He figured he’d find Keith on the training deck, and it seems like he was right. As he approaches, he can hear the clanging of sword on metal. The sound of mock battles is almost comforting by now – one of those familiar facets of everyday life. Yeah, things have gotten pretty weird lately.

He pauses right by the door, and—

—and swallows, as a black blur flashes past him. Keith’s in full fighting mode: lithe, fast body dodging and lunging, avoiding blows and landing his own.

Keith is one of those fighters who make it look like a dance. Envy pricks at Lance’s insides.

Keith sends the droid crashing into the opposite wall. The castle floor opens and swallows it up, and Keith’s explosive movements come to a skidding halt. His chest heaves from exertion; he sucks in a deep breath, and as he lets it out, his broad shoulders finally relax. He uses the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

There’s a flash of pale belly. Toned abs.

Lance’s heart leaps up and punches him in the larynx.

_Okay, you’re here to say sorry. Get a move on!_

“Keith!”

Keith glances up, startled, his eyes widening as they settle on Lance. His throat bobs in a swallow – and oh, _damn_ , his Adam’s apple is really prominent, a fact which is not helping Lance’s case.

“Uh … I came to. You know. To apologize.” He scratches the back of his head. Keith’s shoulders look tense again; there’s none of that effortless grace he had while fighting the droid. His sword and shield light up and disappear, shrinking back into bayard form. “I guess … I mean, I know I’ve been an asshole. I know we have to work together, so—”

“You’ve been fighting me from day one!” Keith snaps.

“Well, I’m sorry!” Lance yells back. “You just … you press all my buttons, okay?” He doesn’t think he has to mention _which_ buttons.

Keith’s frowning hard again – the same way he did before, that expression like he’s agitated, or constipated, or something. “You started this. So I’m not apologizing for anything.”

Lance throws his hands out in exasperation. “That’s _fine_! I’m not asking you to! Punch me in the face if that’ll make you feel better, but we can’t keep bickering like this or Shiro’ll have both our asses on a pla— _holy crow!_ ”

Sometimes Lance, master of sarcasm, forgets just how damn literal Keith can be – and he very narrowly manages to dodge the very, _very_ literal right hook Keith just threw his way.

“Will hitting me really help _that_ much?” Lance screeches, swerving away from another blow. Keith doesn’t reply, just keeps bearing down on him; shit, shit, shit—

—and Keith launches himself across the distance between them, giving Lance a split second to brace himself before Keith’s weight comes crashing into him.

Lance yelps as they collapse onto the floor; he manages to grab Keith’s arms, twists underneath him, writhing enough to, hopefully, make himself hard to pin down.

Keith’s grabbing the front of his shirt; Lance bucks his hips up to shake him off, but it’s too late – Keith has the positional advantage, and his weight has Lance captured, firmly enough for Keith to wrench his arms free of Lance’s grip and push Lance’s shoulders into the floor.

Lance squirms, feebly, wondering if he should pull a feint – go limp, then headbutt Keith and make his escape – but no, he’s wedged underneath Keith pretty tightly and …

… and then, it’s like everything freezes. Keith’s face hovers above him, strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. He’s sweaty – as in, he smells like a guy who just fought off an aggressive armed robot – but the scent of him still goes to Lance’s head. Their eyes lock on one another.

They’re both realizing what position they’re in.

He swears his heart his trying to burst free of his chest. Lance’s breath catches in his throat; he stares up at Keith, and Keith’s dark eyes are wide, his full eyebrows creased in consternation. Lance’s blood is roaring through his veins, and Keith must be able to feel it through the grip on his wrists and—

—and Keith kisses him.

He leans in, fast as a flash, and presses his mouth to Lance’s.

The kiss is soft and dry, like a gust of wind.

It leaves Lance’s lips tingling. He feels his pulse in his head, his palms, his stomach, and his mind is looping the same three words, over and over:

_My first kiss._

And it’s like a dam breaking: Keith looks horrified, like he’s considering standing up and running away as fast as his legs can carry him, and Lance has no damn idea what he looks like, but as he takes a shuddering breath in, he sees some emotion overflow behind Keith’s eyes and—

—and then they’re both reaching out for the other, and their mouths come together again, and they’re kissing, kissing, kissing like the other person is air and they’re in – in space, or something—

—and oh, this is so new, so different – it feels like … like exactly what it is, like a person’s face mashed up against your own – but there are things about that feeling that Lance didn’t know about until now. Like how, when you’re kissing, the scent of someone’s skin becomes a million times more heady, more sweet; and how the soft wet slide of lips sends thrills through your entire everything; and that it’s suddenly so easy to think _oh, so I do like boys_ , so easy to accept it, when a boy is wrapped so tightly in your arms and the last thing you want to do is let him go.

He can’t stop now, he can’t, he _can’t_ , because if he does, everything will shatter. The thought burns at the back of his mind, and Keith seems to share it, because their kisses only get more intense – arms twisting tighter, Lance’s hands tangling in Keith’s sweaty hair – and he can feel Keith’s _hipbones_ , they’re pressed so damn close – and kissing feels _good_ , so good, even though it’s Keith ( _ew_ ), Keith ( _wow_ ), Keith ( _kiss me again, kiss me, Keith_ )—

By the time they break apart, he’s shuddering, his breath coming fast and raw at the top of his lungs.

“No fucking way,” Lance rasps – his throat is suddenly very dry. “What the _quiznak_?”

“I thought—” and Keith looks really _terrified_ , for once “—the, uh, urge might go away if I just hit you—”

“—with your mouth, on my mouth?”

“Shut up!”

“I’ve been thinking about this for _weeks_.”

“Are … are you mad?”

“No – I – did you like it?”

“Yeah, I – did _you_?” Keith’s voice actually _cracks_. Oh god, they’re both totally incoherent.

 _“Yes,”_ Lance breathes. And the world stops again, both of them falling silent, and Lance is sure Keith must be able to _see_ the dent his heart is pounding into his chest.

“So you’re … you’re gay?” he croaks. Oh, fucking brilliant, dude.

“I – yeah? No shit.” And Keith takes a sharp breath in. “I didn’t think _you_ were.”

“See, that’s what I’m still trying to figure out.” Lance laughs helplessly. “My tailbone is dying.”

“Oh, sorry—”

“It’s fine.”

Keith gets off of Lance, pulls him to his feet. Miraculously, Lance’s knees hold him up, without instantly turning to jelly.

And oh – Keith’s cheeks are stained bright pink. Seeing him flustered is new. It’s … endearing.

Their gazes lock for another moment, and then they both look away, embarrassed.

“The others can never know about this,” Keith says, firmly.

They’re on the same page there. Lance can practically hear the teasing already.

He catches Keith’s eye again, and nods once, steely with resolve to keep this – this weird and wonderful whatever – a secret between the two of them, and the two of them only.

When they want to be, they _are_ a good team. 

 

* * *

 

Predictably, it happens again. And again.

They start sneaking away between training sessions, or late at … well, what passes for night. They find hidden crannies of the Castle, where they can wrap their arms around each other, stare at one another as if issuing a challenge, until finally someone plants the first nervous kiss.

Even aloof, stoic Keith has his needs, it turns out. It seems he’s been just as sexually frustrated as Lance this entire time, judging by the desperate way he grabs Lance’s collar and crushes their mouths together as soon as they’re behind closed doors.

It’s kind of exhilarating, in a way, to have Keith Kogane scrabbling to get his hands under Lance’s clothes. But the way they come together is clumsy, and actually quite chaste. Lance realizes he’s pretty terrified about going below the waist, and Keith does nothing to imply he feels differently.

There are tongues, though, and hands; soft sounds and smooth touches. It’s both scary and exciting – exploring each other, this new and unfamiliar thing.

Lance discovers that his collarbone is incredibly sensitive, and when Keith grabs his hips, he can feel himself turn liquid under his hands. Keith loves getting his neck kissed, and when Lance’s fingers twist in his hair a bit too hard, he cuts off Lance’s apology, muttering, “No, it’s … it’s fine.”

So, clearly, there are a lot of things to learn.

It’s the third time, or maybe the fourth, when they end up in Keith’s room. They were hesitant about that – they don’t want Shiro or somebody to see them sneaking out of each other’s rooms – but, well, a bed is a much better place than a hard wall to do what they’re doing.

Which was supposed to be just kissing, just lifting the lid on that inexplicable pent-up attraction, but they end up talking a lot, too. Now that he isn’t constantly trying to outdo Keith, Lance lets himself acknowledge that he’s actually kind of … fun.

Sometimes it’s a flirty, bantering kind of fun, like when they go slow, not rushing just to kiss each other senseless, but taking the time to really experience what they’re doing.

“Oh, wow. You’re so muscular,” says Keith, during one of those times. He swallows hard, his hands smoothing over Lance’s stomach underneath his baseball shirt.

“Hey, what did you think?” Lance sniffs, indignant. “I train as much as you do.”

“It’s just … you look so lanky, in your enormous jacket.”

“Do not knock the jacket! Just because yours is short for some reason—”

“Hey!”

“—like, how is that going to help you in the cold? Do you know what a jacket is for?”

“Maybe you should just shut up, Lance.”

“Who’s gonna make me? You?”

“Yeah,” Keith growls, and then his mouth is there, soft and delicious, kissing Lance long and deep.

And then there are other times when they don’t bother with much making out at all, and Keith ends up with his head on Lance’s shoulder, arm across his waist, and they just … talk. Keith’s husky voice sounds a little different when Lance can feel the hum of it against his chest. The feeling somehow calms him.

“You got into the Garrison ’cause of your grades, right?” Keith says, curled up next to Lance, Lance’s hands carding gently through his hair.

“Well, yeah.”

“Not me.”

Lance blinks at that, surprised. “What, really?”

“They let me in on scholarship because I’m good at flying.” _Good at_ – huh. What an understatement. “My grades weren’t really up to par. I …” Keith hesitates. “I’m dyslexic. And I’d much rather fly or fight or _do_ something instead of sitting down to cram for a test. So I really struggled with that.”

Is Keith opening up to him? Lance feels his heart bloom, ever so slightly.

“It … made me feel like crap sometimes. And they ended up kicking me out anyway, so …” The set of Keith’s jaw is stiff, like he’s more upset than he wants to let on. “I guess I never did belong there.”

 _That’s not true,_ Lance wants to say. _You were a star._

When his mouth does move, what comes out is, “You know I always wished I was more like you?”

Keith glances up; Lance’s stomach swoops, like his body’s telling him to stop while he’s ahead, but he ignores it. “I mean, even the whole rebellious, kick the world’s ass thing. Because, like …” He bites his lip. Oh, man, when he says it out loud it sounds so damn _stupid_. “… it’s like you’re the _hero_ , right? The hero doesn’t care what Iverson thinks.” He rolls his eyes; it makes Keith smile a little. “Me, though? Sneaking out sometimes so I could pretend I was some kind of big deal, like I wouldn’t be back in my dorm studying my ass off for every test like a good little boy and then just doing, I dunno, _okay_? That’s so lame.” He chews his lip. “Shit, sorry. I made this about me.”

“That’s okay. Something you wanna talk about?”

“There’s just … there’s nothing I’m really _good_ at. Puns don’t count.”

“You’re smart,” Keith insists. Lance’s shoulders creep towards his ears.

“I guess. Maybe it’s just … hard, being next to Hunk, you know? I mean, he always gets top marks, and is basically a physics genius. And then there’s Pidge and her hacker skills, so … where does that leave me? I’m, like, ‘the pilot who only got in ’cause Keith left’? ‘The guy who’s all right at stuff’?”

“Hmm,” Keith says, and Lance is almost annoyed – here he is, pouring his heart out, and that’s the response he gets?

But, he chastises himself, it’s not Keith’s fault that Lance is an incurable oversharer. It’s not like Keith _owes_ him anything. He bites his lip, pulls his legs in closer.

Keith seems to ponder it for a while, then opens his mouth to speak. “But you’re good at _everything_ , Lance. I mean. I can fly, I know I can. So I hold onto that, and just sort of accept that I’m crap at pretty much everything else. But you, you’re, uh. Well-rounded. You’re not Hunk, but you did well in school. You’re not me, but you’re a fighter pilot. And you …” He chews his lip, and when he speaks again, his tone is darker. “You understand jokes. So puns totally count.”

Lance snorts at that. “Thanks. ‘Best pilot of my generation’ sounds a lot cooler, though.”

Keith shrugs. “Well, so far, you’ve saved Coran’s life, probably stopped us from getting killed on the Balmera, and, uh, shot Sendak while you were half-dead.” And oh, god, is Keith glancing away? Is he _blushing_? Is _Lance_ blushing? “So. You know. You’re … cool.”

“Wow. Thanks. I … I don’t feel like it a lot of the time, though.” He sighs, feels insecurity bleeding out from the pit of his stomach, filling him up. “I mean, even my haircut is really boring. Sometimes I wish I was brave enough to, like, shave part of it, or grow it out …”

“You always make fun of my hair, though,” Keith points out.

“Well, yeah, that’s different.” He ignores Keith’s snort. “All I mean is, there’s nothing really _interesting_ about me, you know?”

Keith’s arm tightens around him. “Well, sorry, but you’re wrong.”

A flush spreads down Lance’s neck. “Okay, mister ace pilot who lived in the desert.”

Keith smacks him lightly on the side. “Shut up. You’re the most interesting person I know.”

“You need to get out more,” Lance murmurs, but he feels his pulse flutter.

“Nah,” Keith yawns, snuggling closer. “I’m pretty happy right here.” 

 

* * *

 

For a while, Lance is happy too.

And then he fucks it up, because that’s what Lance does.

They’d been doing maintenance on their lions, and Lance pestered Keith to let him see inside of Red (“Everyone’s gotten to ride in Blue already!”). Keith finally caved, and, well, maybe they ended up kissing a little in the cockpit – Lance perched on Keith’s lap, his hands on the back of his neck; Keith’s arms cradling him in place.

After they get out of Keith’s lion, they decide to walk back to the Castle proper. They chat along the way, voices echoing in the vast hangar.

He can’t even remember what they were talking about at first; all he knows is that he’s the one who brings it up.

“It’s pretty cool that things worked out this way, huh?” he says, looking at Keith out of the corner of his eye.

Keith smiles, small and sweet, and glances down at his boots. “Yeah.”

 _Man, that face he makes is so cute._ Lance actually hears himself think this, which is why he has no idea why he does the thing he does next.

“Because I’ve never had, you know, a physical relationship before.”

“A … physical relationship.” Keith’s tone is carefully level.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “But I’m glad I do now, because hormones, right? I mean, in retrospect, it was pretty obvious this would happen – two teenage guys, stuck in space for who knows how long? And, well, Allura’s not interested, Shiro’s old and also an untouchable legend, Pidge is like five, Hunk’s my best friend. So that leaves you. Not that I’m complaining.”

On some level, he’s aware he’s babbling. But on that same level, he is also telling himself that this is what Keith wants to hear – that he wants to be reassured that Lance isn’t being weird, or getting overly attached to him, or anything like that. Which is a blatant lie.

But there’s still this narrative in Lance’s mind, telling him that everything happening up here has nothing to do with his real life – the one he’s left behind on Earth, the one he’s eventually going to step back into. The life where he never had that conversation with Coran. Where he never questioned liking girls, girls, and only girls.

And to that Lance, his heart racing when Keith smiles is something that needs to be explained away.

“You mean this was an accident,” says Keith, expression deadpan.

“Well, yeah.” Lance tries to sound flippant. “But a lucky one. I mean, I think it’s great that we found a way to let off steam—”

And then Keith sucks in a sharp breath that cuts Lance off like a knife.

“So being a shit pilot isn’t enough? You’re an idiot, too?” Keith yells, and Lance flinches like he’s been struck in the face – at the way that comment stings, for one, but at the hurt look in Keith’s eyes more than anything.

“I—”

“Look, I can’t deal with this. I’m going to go find a new way to _let off steam_. Just – don’t come after me.”

And Keith actually _runs_ off, his body tense all over, and Lance feels like his heart has withered in his chest – tight and painful and dead.

He’s not that stupid, after all. He can read between the lines; he knows what’s being left unsaid here. But it’s already too late – too late for the _wait a second_ , for the _god, I’m sorry I’m so insecure_ , for the _I didn’t mean that_.

Too late for the _me too_.

 

* * *

 

They do their best to act normal after that, at least around everyone else. But they’re ignoring each other pretty hard, although Lance notices that Keith will jump at the chance to make snide remarks aimed at him, and it burns. He’s starting to understand what Keith felt like before, with Lance jumping down his throat all the time for no apparent reason.

Damn.

Shiro finds him after dinner one day, asks to talk to him for a second.

“Lance, look, I don’t know how else to say this.” He runs a hand through his tuft of white hair. “You and Keith might have thought you were being subtle, but you weren’t. Not really. And trust me, I know how stressful relationships can be.” Lance notices how tired Shiro’s eyes look, and immediately feels a twinge of guilt for putting him through even more crap, even as mortification is slowly starting to grip him from inside.

“Oh,” Lance squeaks. “Okay.”

“I’m going to need you guys to work on this. For Voltron.”

This might be the most embarrassing thing that’s happened in his entire life. His gay soap-opera affair exposed – by his damn _hero_. Lance swallows, cheeks burning. He can’t look Shiro in the eye. “Yeah. Of … of course.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, Lance,” Shiro says softly, and gives Lance’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “But we have to focus on the team.”

“No, uh. I know what you mean. I … I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks, buddy. Hang in there.”

Lance gives Shiro this stupid little wave. The second Shiro disappears, he proceeds to crumple to the floor and groan, hands covering his face.

If Shiro knows, what’s to say the others haven’t been equally perceptive? What’s to say _everyone_ hasn’t figured it out?

If that’s the case, it doesn’t seem like they cared. He remembers how matter-of-fact they were about Pidge’s gender. Everyone except him.

As usual, Lance is the only one who has to make such a big fucking production out of everything, and he hurt Keith and embarrassed himself in the process.

Oh, quiznak. He wants to _die_. 

 

* * *

 

Lance realizes that he might have spoken too soon. In space, you have to be careful what you wish for.

When Lance’s sister went to Europe to study, she said she could literally _feel_ the physical distance. Like, yeah, France was only a few hours away on the super-atmospheric shuttle. But the miles and miles of ocean and unfamiliar, nameless land separating you from home – you could feel them, she said, like a sensation in your body, spreading all around you. Endless and bare.

Lance knows what she meant now. Understands it with a vengeance, he’d say. If he thinks too hard about the sheer _scope_ of space, he feels like he’s falling.

And that’s with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

When the corrupted Castle starts malfunctioning and traps him in the airlock, that feeling is amplified into infinity.

It might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to him – quite literally holding on by his fingertips, feeling the air rushing out around him, tearing at his body, and waiting on the other end is only the endless, yawning emptiness of space …

For a few excruciating seconds, Lance is certain he _is_ going to die.

And then, whooshing past on the other side of the glass, fast and fierce and fighting, there he is. There he _is_.

He’d recognize that mullet _anywhere_.

 _“Keith!”_ Lance screams.

Keith saves him. Keith fights off a bloodthirsty training bot, slams the button on the control panel, and pulls Lance out of hell.

And once they’ve recovered from the pure shock, once they’ve raced away from anything even remotely resembling an airlock, once they’re in the middle of a long, featureless corridor on their way to find Coran, the experience catches up with Lance like a barreling truck.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers, and feels his knees give out.

And Keith catches him.

His strong hands are under Lance’s armpits, pulling him back to his feet. And then, all at once, they’re in each other’s arms, pressing each other close, every inch touching and Lance’s heart overflowing, on the verge of spilling, because—

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he gasps, over and over, and Keith squeezes him very tightly in this … this distinctly _Keith-like_ way, that means the same thing as Lance’s mumbling.

Because—

Lance’s heart might pound out of his chest, and he rests his forehead against Keith’s forehead, closes his eyes, allows himself to just feel him there, so close and tangible, like the air still in his lungs, the ground still under his feet …

 _Because_ – this isn’t accidental, or hormonal, or … no, actually, it might be all of those things, but it’s also as real and as solid as the boy in his arms.

The boy he cares for, desperately.

It suffuses him like the warmth from Keith’s body – realization, clear as day.

It’s not just physical. It’s wanting to hold onto him late at night, it’s knowing he has your back in battle, it’s trusting him completely, because he’s the only one who can fully understand what you’re going through.

He breathes Keith in. Keith’s face is buried in his shoulder, his fingers digging into his flesh, and he knows that their disagreements never really mattered. This beats that.

This is real.

Keith runs a gloved hand over Lance’s hair, and he’s not sure any gesture has ever felt so comforting.

“Come on,” he whispers against Lance’s temple. “Let’s make sure the others are okay.”

“Okay,” Lance whispers back, and they go, together. 

 

* * *

 

After King Alfor’s AI is destroyed, things on the ship are … heavy. Everyone’s doing their best to keep their heads up, but spirits are, naturally, kind of low.

Lance feels pretty sure things between him and Keith are all right, though. His brush with death cleared a lot of stuff up. They’ve both realized that they do care about each other, and that’s the most important thing.

He still has some apologizing to do, though.

One night, when the rest of the Castle is sleeping, Lance pads out of bed, pushes the door to Keith’s room aside.

He can see him there, in the low light: fully dressed, ready to leap right into action, lying on his side on the narrow bed.

“Hey,” Lance whispers. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

Keith makes a noncommittal noise. He doesn’t move an inch.

Lance slips inside the room, and Keith comes into detail. His hair is thick, curling at the ends; his full eyebrows peek out from behind his bangs, creased a little even at rest. One of his hands is folded in beneath his chin, gloveless; Lance can see the knuckles, still slightly bruised from his encounter with the rogue training bot, covered in healing scabs.

And looking at him in the dim light, Lance feels something.

Like the first step into a warm bath. Like reaching the top of a roller coaster. Like butterflies bursting free.

It feels like being kind of, sort of, very in like.

“Can we, uh, talk?”

Keith sits up. Stretches. “Mm. Guess so.”

“Do you want to … go somewhere else?”

Keith nods, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

They traipse through the halls of the Castle, not talking, not yet. Finally, they end up on the viewing deck, with its massive window facing the stars. The ceiling here is so high. The room itself is huge. Lance feels tiny standing inside it. Lance feels tiny standing in front of Keith.

He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry. That whole thing, before … it was so shitty of me.”

Keith looks away. “I was mean, too.”

Lance’s shoulders inch up toward his ears. “It’s fine.”

“Not really. I pushed your buttons on purpose.”

He laughs, dryly. “Yeah. You’re pretty good at that.”

“I don’t think you’re a shit pilot,” Keith says, and oh _no_ , Lance is powerless to stop the wave of pride welling up inside him at those words. “You know I don’t think so. I mean, I think … I think you’re amazing.”

“Well, I know I’m not as good as you,” Lance mumbles, as his face gets hot.

Keith shrugs, in a way that would have infuriated Lance back at the Garrison. He’d confused it for arrogance, when really it’s just that Keith approaches his own talent the way he approaches the world: as a truth, a fact he can rely on to survive, like the sharpness of his dagger.

“I was jealous of you, you know,” Keith says.

Lance gapes. “What? _Why?_ ”

Keith stares at him as if the answer is obvious. “You can make friends with anyone. I lived in a shack in the desert for months.”

“I thought that was part of your image.”

“Yeah, well, it got lonely.”

They stare at each other for a few heartbeats.

“Wow. I was a real dick.”

“Yeah, you were,” says Keith, taking a step closer.

“We … really need to get better at communicating, don’t we?” His voice sounds unsteady even to himself.

Keith shrugs. “Guess so.”

And his big eyes are looking into Lance’s eyes, and Lance’s heart is throbbing against his ribs, and the corner of Keith’s mouth pulls up into a tiny smile, like whatever it is they need to talk about can wait.

His arms wrap around Lance’s neck.

And they kiss.

His own arms go around Keith’s waist – and he’s so strong; Lance can feel his muscles through his T-shirt. It’s hard to believe someone this capable is melting against Lance’s body like this, counting on Lance to hold him up.

And Lance tries to pour all his sincerity into those kisses – all the things he can’t seem to bring himself to _say_ , at least he can _show_.

He suspects he isn’t very good at kissing. He suspects that neither is Keith. It’s not like he has anything to compare it to. But even if the messy press of their mouths and the occasional embarrassing slurping sounds aren’t exactly world-class … breathing Keith in and holding him close has something warm and golden uncoiling inside of him, something he doesn’t quite dare name, but that feels … kind of amazing.

He wonders if Keith can feel it too. If the way he gasps, as if he’s just remembered he needs air after forgetting for a long while, and the way his bare hands bunch in the front of Lance’s shirt, mean he’s experiencing the same thing.

They break away for a few moments, breathing hard. Keith’s hands are still holding onto Lance’s shirt, and Lance’s arms are still locked around Keith’s waist: tense, clutching, unwilling to let go.

Lance leans his forehead against Keith’s.

“God.” His voice is dry. “I’m sorry I’m so dumb.”

Keith inhales, long and shuddering. “Thanks. Same.” He swallows. “Kiss me again.”

Lance thinks it’s probably more of a question than a command, but because it’s Keith saying it, that’s the way it comes out. The same way everything Lance says sounds confrontational and insensitive, even when he doesn’t mean it.

They’re learning each other.

And Lance is learning what it means to have your heart swell three sizes. To feel like you’re glowing, as long as he’s in your arms.

“Yeah, okay,” he whispers, and leans in, and feels Keith’s breath on his parted lips. When it comes, the kiss is searing, and sweet, and everything he’s ever wanted.

They stand there for a while, just resting, just breathing, foreheads touching and fingers entwined.

And Lance has something he needs to say.

“I … I’m not just doing this because we’re in space and there’s no other option.” His voice feels thick in his throat, and god, he didn’t know you could feel nervousness in your entire _body_ , in your face and belly and lips and hands. “I mean. I want to be with you because you’re you.”

Keith blinks, and Lance swallows.

“What I’m trying to say is, I _like_ you.”

Keith’s head falls onto Lance’s shoulder. The sudden weight makes him startle, the warmth of him, the softness of his hair tickling Lance’s neck.

He nuzzles in a little, burying his nose in Lance’s shirt and pressing close. As if it’s a secure place to be. A gentleness emanates from him, a vulnerability. It’s a tangible feeling of walls coming down. It’s …

_Trust._

Lance feels himself melting.

Tentatively, heart fluttering in his chest, like the guy at the movie theater uncertain if it’s the right time to make a move, Lance lets his arms encircle Keith’s shoulders. Keith squeezes him tight in response.

“Um … you wanna sit down?”

“Yeah.”

They move over to the huge panoramic window, looking out over the still, infinite beauty of the stars, and huddle close to each other. Lance’s arm is still around Keith.

He clears his throat. “Can I … say a few things?”

“Go ahead.”

“Right. So I guess … I’m bisexual. And … I didn’t know I was, until I met you.”

Keith makes a little sound of acknowledgment, encouraging him to go on.

“And that’s … it wasn’t who I thought I was. I had trouble wrapping my head around it, so I guess that’s why I ended up saying the things I did.”

Keith leans deeper into him, and sighs. “I still … I mean, I get it. But I can’t really relate.”

“I guess I felt like I needed to explain it to … to my old self, in terms that he could understand?” Lance frowns. “You never had that feeling about … being gay? Like you had to rationalize it?”

“Not really. I feel what I feel.”

“Well, I tend to wrap things up in thoughts and words and it gets all messy and crappy and …” He bites his lip. “Your way seems easier.”

“Sometimes.” Keith pauses for a heartbeat. “But sometimes, I feel things so strongly, but I can’t … express how I …” Quickly, almost surreptitiously, he glances up at Lance – and there’s a sweet, soft look in his eyes that threatens to completely annihilate what’s left of Lance’s functioning mind.

He swallows down his beating heart. “Well, um, since I don’t have that problem, I think you should know I’ve come to terms with my enormous dumb space crush on you.”

Keith’s face turns an adorable shade of pink.

“I. Uh. Might also have one of those.”

Lance squeezes his shoulders fondly. “Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s a huge idiot.”

“Sounds lame. You should date me instead.”

Keith grins. And man, his toothy smiles and slightly crinkled eyes are the absolute _cutest_. “Yeah, okay.”

_Okay._

Keith’s hand finds Lance’s. Twines their fingers together, skin to skin.

“So, what I meant by that …” Keith starts, and Lance laughs softly.

“I know what you meant. I don’t have your chronic immunity to all things sarcasm.”

“Yeah, whatever, I still want to say it.”

And there’s one suspended moment, where it seems like none of them dares to breathe.

“I like you too,” Keith finally mumbles, into Lance’s shirt.

Lance squeezes his hand tight. His hand that’s warm and firm and real and _Keith_.

They sit there, two boys together, and look out at the vast and starry void.

**Author's Note:**

> wanna be space ranger partners? find me on tumblr! c:  
> [main](http://charmkvark.tumblr.com)  
> [voltron side](http://blue-lancer.tumblr.com)
> 
> comments are my life's blood, i cry every time srsly i love u guys sm,,
> 
> thank you for reading!!


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